question: what had happened to him and why had he ended up buried out at Wisteria Hill?
5
L ater that afternoon I drove down to the library to check on things. The street and the parking lot were still flooded but the water barely came to the top of my boots—a good sign. Just a couple of days previously it had been knee-level. The building itself was still dry.
I spent the rest of the afternoon working at home, at the kitchen table with Owen and Hercules wandering in from time to time to see if I had anything good to mooch. The library board was planning a huge party to celebrate the building’s one hundredth “birthday” in June. As part of that celebration I had a number of displays planned, showcasing some of the history of Mayville Heights, and the different groups that had used the library over the years. Everyone on staff was working on some kind of project. Maggie had volunteered her services, and several people had promised photos and other memorabilia. My neighbor, Rebecca, had offered to lend me some of her mother’s old journals and drawings. Rebecca’s mother, Ellen Montgomery, had been an expert onherbal remedies, and had taught more than one workshop on the subject at the library.
I soaked for a long time in the bathtub after supper and went to bed before ten o’clock. I was stiff and sore when I woke up the next morning, so I was still drinking my first cup of coffee when the phone rang. I got to my feet and limped into the living room to answer it. It was Maggie.
“Hi,” I said. “I thought you had an artists’ meeting this morning.”
“We’re finished. It didn’t take very long.” she said. She blew out a breath. “I was going to go over to the studio and do some work, but we have orders from the store’s Web site that I really need to get mailed. Plus there’s one package that I need to get from Ruby plus another from Jaeger of all people and I have no idea where all the packing supplies are, and I just heard the forecast. It’s going to rain again tonight.”
I eased down onto the footstool. “What can I do?” I asked. She sounded frazzled so I decided not to tell her what had happened to me out at Wisteria Hill. At least not on the phone.
If she’d heard the details via the Mayville Heights grapevine, “What happened?” would have been the first question out of her mouth. I knew that the downtown business owners had had a meeting of their own and another with the town council. It had probably taken all of yesterday afternoon, which was probably why Maggie wasn’t up on the latest scuttlebutt.
“Do you know any anti-rain dances? Or maybe where there might be a volcano that we could throw a sacrifice, say—I don’t know—Jaeger Merrill into?”
“Sorry,” I said. “But I do have a big roll of bubble wrap and lots of tape at the library.”
“Does that mean the volcano thing is off the table?”
“I take it the meeting this morning didn’t go well?”
“It’s more that Jaeger’s timing on this whole corporate sponsor thing just stinks,” she said. “I’m tired. I need a shower. I’ve been moving boxes and shelving for days now. I’ve been slinging sandbags and bailing the basement and it’s probably all been for nothing because it going to rain. Again.” I could hear the frustration in her voice. “And all Jaeger wants to do is push his agenda to turn the co-op into the Acme Widget Artists’ Co-op, like that’s somehow going to make the rain and the four feet of water in the basement and his leaky window just disappear.”
“So what happened?”
“We took a vote.”
“And?”
“And I knew there were enough people who like things the way they are.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I pictured her with her hand pressed against her chest, eyes closed. “But I don’t think Jaeger’s done. All I did was buy some time.”
“Maybe a bit of time is all you need,” I said. Owen wandered in and sat at my feet. “Once the rain
5
L ater that afternoon I drove down to the library to check on things. The street and the parking lot were still flooded but the water barely came to the top of my boots—a good sign. Just a couple of days previously it had been knee-level. The building itself was still dry.
I spent the rest of the afternoon working at home, at the kitchen table with Owen and Hercules wandering in from time to time to see if I had anything good to mooch. The library board was planning a huge party to celebrate the building’s one hundredth “birthday” in June. As part of that celebration I had a number of displays planned, showcasing some of the history of Mayville Heights, and the different groups that had used the library over the years. Everyone on staff was working on some kind of project. Maggie had volunteered her services, and several people had promised photos and other memorabilia. My neighbor, Rebecca, had offered to lend me some of her mother’s old journals and drawings. Rebecca’s mother, Ellen Montgomery, had been an expert onherbal remedies, and had taught more than one workshop on the subject at the library.
I soaked for a long time in the bathtub after supper and went to bed before ten o’clock. I was stiff and sore when I woke up the next morning, so I was still drinking my first cup of coffee when the phone rang. I got to my feet and limped into the living room to answer it. It was Maggie.
“Hi,” I said. “I thought you had an artists’ meeting this morning.”
“We’re finished. It didn’t take very long.” she said. She blew out a breath. “I was going to go over to the studio and do some work, but we have orders from the store’s Web site that I really need to get mailed. Plus there’s one package that I need to get from Ruby plus another from Jaeger of all people and I have no idea where all the packing supplies are, and I just heard the forecast. It’s going to rain again tonight.”
I eased down onto the footstool. “What can I do?” I asked. She sounded frazzled so I decided not to tell her what had happened to me out at Wisteria Hill. At least not on the phone.
If she’d heard the details via the Mayville Heights grapevine, “What happened?” would have been the first question out of her mouth. I knew that the downtown business owners had had a meeting of their own and another with the town council. It had probably taken all of yesterday afternoon, which was probably why Maggie wasn’t up on the latest scuttlebutt.
“Do you know any anti-rain dances? Or maybe where there might be a volcano that we could throw a sacrifice, say—I don’t know—Jaeger Merrill into?”
“Sorry,” I said. “But I do have a big roll of bubble wrap and lots of tape at the library.”
“Does that mean the volcano thing is off the table?”
“I take it the meeting this morning didn’t go well?”
“It’s more that Jaeger’s timing on this whole corporate sponsor thing just stinks,” she said. “I’m tired. I need a shower. I’ve been moving boxes and shelving for days now. I’ve been slinging sandbags and bailing the basement and it’s probably all been for nothing because it going to rain. Again.” I could hear the frustration in her voice. “And all Jaeger wants to do is push his agenda to turn the co-op into the Acme Widget Artists’ Co-op, like that’s somehow going to make the rain and the four feet of water in the basement and his leaky window just disappear.”
“So what happened?”
“We took a vote.”
“And?”
“And I knew there were enough people who like things the way they are.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I pictured her with her hand pressed against her chest, eyes closed. “But I don’t think Jaeger’s done. All I did was buy some time.”
“Maybe a bit of time is all you need,” I said. Owen wandered in and sat at my feet. “Once the rain
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